I used to hate getting haircuts.
Now I shave my head every few months.
I hated it with a fury that is hard for me to explain. I did not like it at all. The whole experience. The glasses being taken away. The silence. Or the conversation. (Both are bad.)
The first time I shaved my head (voluntarily; I won’t go into the many Tirupati trips) was March, last year. I don’t quite remember why. I was frustrated. And I didn’t want to deal with it. I had no control over the situation, so I desperately did at least one thing I could do that was in my power.
I hated going alone, too. Usually went with father. And usually got a Frankie or something as a treat after. It was… tolerable.
The second time was less thought. It had all grown back and I didn’t like how it was. So instead of fixing it, I just took it all off again. Was there a third time? I think so. Same reason. And yesterday was the fourth time.
The barber in the hostel is pretty nice.